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The Rich 
Little 
Poor Boy 

By 

O. E. Ure 





Published by 

The Master Press 
L os Angeles 




Copyright, 1922, by O. E. URE 


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NOV 28 ’22 


A herOy still a little child^ 
Endowed with faith and hope 
Though in life's many joys exiled — 
With miracles may cope. 



The Rich Little 
Poor Boy 





The Rich Little 
Poor Boy 

t ?T was the day before Christ- 
mas. Little Bobby Brown, 
propped up with pillows in 
his wheeled chair by the 
window, gazed wistfully at 
the snow outside that covered all the 
trees and houses in sight with glis- 
tening whiteness and made the hill 
that sloped down from the street a 
wonderful coasting place for little 
boys. 

“Come out and play with me!” 
the snow seemed to say, tapping 
with cold fingers on the window 
pane. 

But Bobby shook his head and his 
lips trembled a little. He pulled 
the robe closer over his little thin, 
twisted legs. 


“Lame boys can’t play with you, 
Mr. Snow,” he answered, trying to 
smile. 

“Ah, all because you were diso- 
bedient to your mother,” the snow 
seemed to whisper again. Bobby 
hung his head. Yes, it was true. 
It was all because he had disobeyed 
his mother who had forbidden him 
to coast down the hill when the 
train that ran at the foot of it was 
coming. It only passed four times 
a day, so that it was not hard for 
a boy to remember the train time. 
Bobby had heard the whistle but he 
had started down on his little blue 
sled anyway — ^he had been so sure 
that he could beat the engine ! He 
blinked back the tears that came to 
his eyes as he remembered the ter- 
rible rushing train that came faster 


and faster, like a fiery dragon in a 
fairy tale ! How hard he had tried 
to get out of the way and could not. 
He shuddered and put his hands 
over his face as he remembered the 
sickening crash of the train as it 
struck him and hurled him, broken 
and bleeding, into the ditch at the 
wayside. 

But Bobby was brave, and it was 
one year since his dreadful acci- 
dent. He had spent long weeks in 
bed at first, and then long months 
in his wheeled chair, and now was 
just beginning to learn to walk on 
crutches; he was too manly to cry 
over what could not be helped. He 
wiped his eyes on the back of his 
sleeve and sniffed. His dad was 
dead, but when mother got rich 
sewing by the day she was going to 


9 


take him to a fine doctor in New 
York who would make him well. 
Bobby and his mother were very 
poor. 

“I don’t care — much,” he 
thought, “it’s a pretty bad punish- 
ment to have to sit in a chair or 
hobble on crutches and not play 
like other boys and girls. And not 
grow big and strong to take daddy’s 
place so mother wouldn’t have to 
work so hard. But mother says 
I’m not useless — I’m not helpless, 
and if I watch and wait and be 
ready, God will find something big 
and fine for me to do.” 

The bare room was very lonely 
with only the ticking clock and the 
crackling of the old black stove in 
the corner to keep him company. 
He had just finished reading Rob- 


in 


inson Crusoe for the fourth time, 
and he knew his Boy Scout books 
by heart. There was no one going 
by in the quiet street for on 
Christmas eve almost everybody is 
busy indoors getting ready for 
Santa Claus. 

Opposite the shabby cottage that 
was Bobby’s home stood the big 
house where Dick Powell, the doc- 
tor’s son, lived. Dick was Bobby’s 
age but he was well and strong and 
had a pony and a bicycle and a 
punching bag — and — and every- 
thing a boy’s heart could wish for, 
including a most wonderful long 
red sled. It would carry two and 
had fine, sharp steel runners that 
could go like the wind. 

Just as Bobby was thinking all 
this Dick dashed out of his drive- 


11 


way, dragging the shining red sled 
behind him. Instantly Bobby was 
full of excited hope. He pushed 
up the window and called to him. 

“I say, Dick, won’t you give a 
fellow a ride?” 

But Dick, with a jeering smile 
on his round, rosy face paid no at- 
tention to the other boy. He threw 
himself on the sled and shot down 
the long white slope of the hill. 
Presently he came back, puffing 
from the climb. 

“Gee, this is great sport! Why 
don’t you get a sled of your own?” 

Bobby winced at this cruel taunt 
but made himself smile. He did not 
want Dick to know that he cared. 

“What are you going to get for 
Christmas?” he asked. 


12 


“Oh, loads of things,” Dick 
boasted, “more’n I want, I guess. 
Dad’s coming home on the four 
o’clock train and I bet he’s bought 
out every toy store in New York! 
Don’t you wish you had a father, 
kid?” 

Bobby’s look of pain and grief 
filled even thoughtless Dick with 
shame. His face turned red and 
he shuffled his feet in the snow. 

“Well, you’ve got a mother. Bob, 
and that’s more than I have. I — I 
guess no fellow has everything. . .” 

At this mention of his mother 
Bobby’s face brightened. His 
mother was wonderful — so sweet, 
so patient, and such good fun — 
why, she could make any fellow for- 
get his legs! They popped corn to- 
gether and made candy, and she 


13 


told him dandy stories about men 
who overcame terrible handicaps 
and made every one proud of them. 
He suddenly felt sorry for Dick. 

“I say, Bob, I’ll take you for a 
ride on my sled tomorrow. I’m 
going down now with my eyes shut. 
It’s great! It feels like an air- 
plane. Goodbye.” 

“But, Dick,” Bobby cried in 
alarm, “it’s nearly time for the 
train! It’s five minutes to four!” 

But Dick did not hear him. He 
threw himself down on his bright 
red sled just as the hoarse whistle 
sounded in the distance, and started 
down the steep hill that ran straight 
across the railroad track. The 
wind, rushing into Dick’s ears, 
would keep him from hearing and 
with his eyes shut — oh, merciful 


14 


goodness ! Bobby moaned and 

felt sick with horror. Oh, if he 
could only walk — could only run! 
He grabbed his crutches and hob- 
bled painfully to the front door and 
jerked it open. He saw the smoke 
of the train, and just then there 
came to his ears a shrill, terrified 
shout that told him that Dick had 
realized his danger. Oh, why 
didn’t Dick turn out? What had 
happened — why was Dick speeding 
straight for that dreadful track? 
Was he too frightened to think? 

In his thin little jacket and with 
bare blonde head, the little lame boy 
toiled with his crutches across the 
snowy porch and down the slippery, 
icy steps. Falling and slipping and 
catching himself again he managed 
to stagger to the street. His breath 


IS 


came in hoarse gasps and in spite 
of the cold the perspiration stood 
out on his strained face; he shook 
and trembled. His frightened, 
watching eyes beheld the sudden 
jolt of the plunging sled as it 
reached the bottom of the hill. He 
saw Dick fly into the air and land 
heavily across the steel rails and 
then lie strangely still. A cry of 
terror burst from Bobby’s lips, 
“Oh, God— dear God— help Dick!” 

The train was coming nearer and 
nearer. There was not a moment 
to lose. With a sob that was half 
a prayer Bobby dropped his 
crutches, that were useless in the 
snow and ice, and hurled his frail 
body down the steep, frozen incline. 
At first he slid slowly and had to 
push himself with his hands and 


16 


jerk and twist his body, but soon he 
began to slide faster and faster un- 
til he rolled over and over like a 
rubber ball. His brain was whirl- 
ing. He had but one thought — ^he 
must reach the prostrate boy before 
the rushing monster of iron could 
crush him to death. Bobby^s face 
was cut and bleeding ; the sharp ice, 
the stones hidden in the snow 
bruised him and tore his clothes, 
but he felt no pain. 

^'Oh, please, dear God, let me be 
in time 

Again the shrill warning whistle 
of the rapidly approaching train 
shrieked in his ears; he shouted 
loudly to Dick and with a last 
effort succeeded in reaching his 
side. He seized him by the shoul- 
ders. He was limp and heavy. The 


17 


train, rocking from side to side on 
the buzzing rails, was hideously 
near. The roar was deafening; he 
could feel the heat of the engine — 
the smothering steam — then with a 
tremendous effort he jerked Dick 
clear of that cruel track — clear of 
the terrible monster of iron and fire 
just as it passed over the spot where 
Dick had been. Bob caught a 
glimpse of the white, frightened 
face of the engineer leaning from 
the cab, then darkness came over 
him like a great wave and he knew 
no more. 

When consciousness came back 
to Bobby, he found himself held in 
the arms of a kneeling man and 
with surprise he recognized him as 
Dr. Powell, Dick’s father. There 
were crowds of people around them. 


18 


“Thank God, he is coming to,” 
the doctor said. Bobby wondered 
why there were tears on his cheeks 
— do men cry? Then suddenly a 
dreadful thought struck him. 

“Dick — is — is Dick hurt? Didn’t 
God let me be in time?” 

“You were in time, my little 
man,” answered the doctor, in a 
choking voice, “in time to be a hero! 
You saved the life of my boy. I 
owe you a debt that I can never 
repay.” 

And then Bobby saw that the 
big man’s other arm was around 
Dick, who, although he looked pale 
and queer with a great bump on 
his forehead, was smiling at him. 
The people about them were talking 
excitedly; there was the engineer 
who had seen the rescue, and the 


19 


conductor and brakeman. And all 
the passengers were crowding 
around him and people came run- 
ning from their homes to see why 
the train had stopped in that un- 
usual place. Bobby heard the 
words — “wonderful courage — 
heroism — a medal for bravery.” 
What did they mean? he wondered. 

He found himself lifted into a 
beautiful automobile, and just then 
his mother, with a frightened look 
on her sweet face, came running 
toward him holding out her arms. 
They took him home and made him 
go to bed. 

“You must be quiet so that you 
can enjoy yourself tomorrow,” they 
told him. 

The next day was the most won- 
derful Christmas that Bobby had 


20 


ever spent. Not only did he and 
his mother have dinner — with lots 
of turkey and plum pudding and 
everything delicious — at Dick’s 
house, but there was a glorious 
Christmas tree beside. It glittered 
with lighted candles and sparkled 
with beautiful red and blue and 
gold and silver ornaments. And 
under the tree were presents for 
Bobby and Dick; just the very 
things that boys want most of all. 
There was even a radio set for 
Bobby and a phonograph ! 

That night, after they had gone 
back to their little house and Mrs. 
Brown had tucked her happy, 
sleepy Bobby in bed and kissed him 
tenderly, he put his arms around 
her neck. 


21 


“I guess you were right, mother. 
I guess God does give a chance of 
helping others to fellows even if 
they are lame — and poor — if they 
watch and are ready for them when 
they come . . 

“Bobby, my own brave boy ! You 
will not be lame long, dear, for Dr. 
Powell is certain that he can cure 
you. He told me so tonight. And 
as for being poor, my Bobby, why, 
you are rich ! Rich in courage, in 
patience, in bravery — rich in un- 
selfishness and love for others.” 

She bent down and kissed him 
again. 

“You are a rich little poor boy,” 
she said, smiling. 


22 











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